SUMMARY: Dick Grayson—acrobat, vigilante, master of grace—manages to break his nose on your bedframe in his eagerness to fuck you.
WARNINGS: established relationship, sexually suggestive content, horny couple and horny ramblings, wandering hands, injury, blood
WORD COUNT: 3.2k
READ ON AO3
Your entire body is humming.
Dick's fingers are interlaced with yours and your skin feels like fire— a steady insistent heat that has now settled low in your stomach. You're floating as you enter your building's elevator, untethered from gravity, from sense, from anything that isn't the boy pulling you inside.
Your fingers separate as his hands find your waist, and he presses closer, closer, until there's no space left between you at all. His mouth finds yours immediately.
It's giggly and breathless and imperfect, more sensation than technique. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you smile against his mouth, and you feel his answering grin, the slight scrape of teeth against your bottom lip that makes your stomach flip.
Dick's reaches blindly for the door close button, unwilling to break your frantic kissing, and you're about to dissolve into him completely when—
"Wait! Hold the elevator, please!"
Dick tenses, his movement uncertain as he pulls away from your embrace. His gaze flickers from you to the panel of buttons, and there' a split second where you watch him weigh his options— a specific brand of mischief dancing at the corners of his mouth.
You know exactly which button he's considering.
"Dick," you warn, pushing lightly at his chest.
You'd be more inclined to indulge in your more selfish tendencies if your building’s elevator wasn't notoriously hard to catch. It would be downright cruel to ignore the plead.
Dick sighs, but he's already reaching for the door open button. "I know, I know."
And even as he steps back with exaggerated reluctance, you know the protest is all performance. He would've held the door anyway. You find the act overwhelmingly endearing— the pretense of being dragged into doing the right thing when kindness is his baseline.
Dick manages to steal one more kiss before the stranger rushes in, smoothing his hair as he stands straight.
"Thank you so, so much," they say and you smile, nodding, unable to give them any real attention at all. You're trying your best to look like a normal person who definitely wasn't just seconds away from doing something extremely inadvisable in a semi-public space.
You and Dick stand side by side now, and your hands are next to each other but no longer touching. A careful inch of space that feels infinitely charged. You're so aware of his presence that it borders on painful.
A sense of giddiness sings through your bloodstream, and your cheeks are beginning to ache from the effort of containing your smile. The ghost of his mouth is burning against your lips. You can still taste him perfectly.
But despite practically inhaling him a few moments prior, you can't bring yourself to look at him now. Can't bring yourself to glance sideways because you know that if you do, you'll combust. You'll reach for him. You'll forget entirely about the stranger politely looking at their phone.
You watch the numbers climb as the elevator continues its descent.
3... 4... 5...
In a few short minutes, Dick's mouth will be on you again. The thought makes heat pool low in your belly.
You bounce slightly on your heels, restless, trying to channel this energy somewhere that isn't directly into Dick Grayson's orbit.
His hand swings next to yours. You could easily interlace your fingers, fall into that natural pattern you've worn into your lives. But Dick hasn't reached for you yet—something he does instinctively. It makes you wonder if he's basking in this too. This strange secrecy of domesticity. A performance of restraint for sixty seconds.
You shift slightly, moving your arm until you can feel his fingers next to yours. Your chest tightens as you risk a glance his way.
He's already looking at you. A barely restrained grin pulls at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes—god, his eyes—drop to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting yours again.
Desire coils low in your stomach. Tight and insistent and completely overwhelming.
His index finger extends slowly, dragging across the back of your hand. It's featherlight. More intimate than anything else that's happened tonight. Your breath catches and you tighten your lips, trying desperately to maintain composure.
But god, all you want to do is jump his bones.
You're staring at him now. Can't look away, really. His finger trails up your wrist, your forearm, drawing invisible patterns on your skin, and you feel it everywhere—in your chest, your throat, the base of your spine.
The elevator dings.
Your floor.
Dick's hand immediately tangles with yours, and he's moving, pulling you forward with barely contained urgency. "Have a good night!" he sings over his shoulder, all charm and ease.
You manage to parrot a breathless repetition of his words as you stumble after him, and you catch the stranger's knowing smirk as the doors close.
Then you're in the hallway and Dick is kissing you—unabashed, hungry, teenager-desperate. Your back hits the wall and you laugh against his mouth, hands in his hair, pulling him closer even as you're trying to move toward your apartment.
"C'mon," you breathe between kisses, but he's not listening, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck.
When you finally reach your door, you fumble for your keys with shaking hands. Dick is immediately behind you, his body pressed against your back, mouth finding your shoulder, your neck, anywhere there's exposed skin. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, splaying against your stomach, and the heat of his palms against your bare skin makes you gasp.
"You're not helping," you say, trying for scolding but landing somewhere around breathless.
"That's because I'm not trying to help," he murmurs.
He kisses behind your ear, takes your earlobe between his teeth, and your whole body responds—arching back into him, your hand stilling on the doorknob.
"Dick..."
"Mmhmm?" His tongue traces the shell of your ear.
You manage to shove the door open.
Inside, everything happens in fragments. Kissing. His shirt coming off. Yours following. A trail of clothing leading to your bedroom. You're ahead of him, naked before he's managed his pants, and you settle on the bed, pushing yourself back until you're leaning on your hands.
The position is deliberate, calculated to drive him insane—back arched slightly, legs falling open just enough to be inviting, watching him through your lashes.
Dick pauses in the doorway, hands frozen on his belt buckle. His eyes drag over you hungrily. Everything in his body language screams that he wants to devour you, and the sight alone makes you feel bold— sexy. Unbelievably desirable.
And totally, completely, drenched.
"You just gonna stand there?" you ask, letting your voice drop lower. You put your weight on one hand, the other drifting down your stomach. "Should I start without you?"
That gets him moving. His eyes flash dark and he fumbles with his belt, yanking it free. "Don't you dare."
You smirk and let your hand drift even lower. "Or what?"
"Or I'll—" He's struggling with his button now, fingers clumsy with urgency. You bite your lip to keep from laughing. "Jesus, why are pants so—"
"Need help?"
The offer is innocent but your tone isn't.
"No, I just—" He gets the button open, shoves his pants down, and begins to kick his shoes off. "These fucking laces—"
You open your mouth to tease him when it happens.
His foot catches. His eyes widen. There's a split second where you both realize what's about to happen, where time seems to slow down enough for you to register the trajectory, and then—
The sickening crack of his face meeting your bedframe.
"Oh, fuck—" You're scrambling off the bed, dropping to your knees beside him. The carpet burns slightly against your bare skin. "Dick?"
Your hands hover over him, unsure where to touch. He groans—muffled, pained—and rolls onto his back. Blood is already streaming from his nose.
"Oh my god, are you okay?"
You automatically scan the scene even as your heart pounds: he's caught most of the blood with his hands cupped over his face, but some has escaped, decorating your rug in abstract, blooming shapes.
"No," he says, nasal and thick. "Definitely not okay."
You help him sit up, gentle hands on his shoulders, and he cradles his nose with both palms.
"And maybe my dignity," Dick groans faintly, "If you can find it anywhere."
Dick is sitting on the edge of the bed when you return, shirtless and hunched over slightly, one hand holding a wad of tissues to his nose.
You're wearing his shirt now, and you've pulled on a fresh pair of underwear. The ones from before were already soaked through before disaster struck—and you're trying very hard not to think about how this is absolutely not how the night was supposed to go.
The blood has soaked through the white fabric pressed to his face. The sight is jarring, even to your blood-seasoned eyes, but the speed of the spread doesn't raise any concerns. Just the normal profuse bleeding of a normal hurt nose. Dick seems more inconvenienced than pained.
He looks up at the sound of your footsteps and his shoulders relax, posture straightening slightly. His eyes catch on what you're carrying. He raises a brow.
"...Pizza rolls?"
You tilt the bag, examining it in all its frozen glory, and bite back a laugh as you wrap it in a thin cloth. "What? I don't have an ice machine, remember?"
The corner of Dick's mouth curves upward, the expression slightly obstructed by the blood-stained tissue. "You bought some cold packs a week ago."
He's right. You’d bought them specifically for moments like these—the inevitable injuries that come with your lives, the sprains and bruises and apparently sex-related bloody noses.
"I know, but I keep forgetting to put them in the freezer," you admit with a sheepish shrug, walking closer. It's not your fault that your lives are so busy.
"I need to get you an ice maker, then," Dick says.
"For what?"
"Emergencies. Drinks."
You tilt your head. "And all of your future horny-fail wipe-outs?"
He tsks, shaking his head, but his eyes gleam with mirth even as he winces slightly at the movement. "Too soon, babe. Too soon."
You bite back a smile, the muscles in your cheeks aching from the effort, and close the distance between you, stopping just in front of where he sits. He pulls the tissue away from his face, examining it briefly.
"Still bleeding?" you ask.
Dick shakes his head carefully. "Nope, thank god."
He tosses the wad of tissue onto the bedside table. It lands half on the wood, half on his phone screen, and you grimace slightly at the mess but don't comment. You've both dealt with worse. Blood and bodily fluids stopped being squeamish territory a long time ago.
You take in the sight of him—hair disheveled, nose already swelling, dried blood crusted at his nostrils and smeared across his fingers. Still as handsome as ever.
He reaches out and wraps a hand around one of your wrists, tugging gently. When you resist, he makes a sound of complaint—somewhere between a whine and a grumble, like an upset dog who's been denied his favorite spot on the couch.
He tugs again. "Come closer."
"No."
"Why nooot?"
"Because you need to keep your head level."
"My head is level."
"It won't be if I'm closer." You raise an eyebrow, waiting for protest.
Dick's eyes gleam with something mischievous. He won't even bother lying. You both know he'll tilt his head back to look at you the second you got close enough, injury be damned.
"Please?" He tugs again, more insistent, and you feel your resolve cracking. "I'm injured and in need of comfort."
He wins—as he always does—and you let him pull you close enough that he can wrap his hands around the backs of your thighs. His palms are warm through the fabric of his shirt, fingers spreading possessively, and something in your chest goes soft.
You raise the bag of pizza rolls, holding it carefully as you try to find the best angle to press it against his swollen nose.
Catching his expression, you pause.
He's looking at the bag again, nose wrinkling slightly before he winces at the motion. "And you're sure that's all we have?"
"Yes."
"One hundred percent?"
"What's the difference? It's frozen and big."
He doesn't say anything, and you know he's just drawing it out for the fun of it. You roll your eyes affectionately. "You expect me to pull a bag of ice from my ass, or something?"
He laughs, the sound immediately followed by a wince. "Ow. Don't make me laugh." But he's grinning despite the pain. "Wouldn't that'd be a neat trick, though."
You're so over him right now. Affectionately, but still. You narrow your eyes. "Do you want the pizza rolls or not? They're getting soggy."
A dramatic sigh leaves him. "Fine. Roll me."
His stupid words make you snort—an inelegant sound you'd be embarrassed about if it were anyone else. "You're such a loser. C'mere."
Thumb pressed gently against his chin, you tilt his head downward into a better position. Your other hand brings the bag to rest against the bridge of his nose.
Dick is still looking at you through his lashes. You can only imagine the slight strain there must be in his eyes to look so directly upward despite the downward tilt of his head. But he seems determined to keep his gaze on your face, unwilling to look away even for comfort.
Something in your chest shimmers with warmth.
You ignore his gaze on purpose, wanting to bask in it a little longer—the idea that the man you're in love with enjoys simply gazing at you, even when there are more important matters at hand.
But you start to feel too exposed, almost nervous under the weight of his attention. "You're staring at me."
"Can't help it," he murmurs, running his hands up and down your thighs in slow, soothing strokes. "My pretty girlfriend—being so sweet to me, using her pizza rolls."
You shake your head, but his words sink into your bloodstream anyway, warming you from the inside out. This is different from the heat earlier—less urgent, more tender.
"And the bag is unopened," you say softly, playing up the tragedy. "So I'm basically sacrificing them for you."
"Oh, sacrificing, huh?" There's amusement in his voice. "Liar. You're just gonna put them back in the freezer."
"Uh, no. They're gonna be all soggy and wet, so they won't freeze the same again. I'll have to throw them away."
You're being serious, and from his expression, he knows it. He's amused all the same.
"Well, I'm so sorry for inconveniencing you with my bleeding nose."
"Apology accepted." You grin, unable to help yourself.
You gently lift the bag to peer at his nose, the skin now slightly pink from the cold. Your free hand cups his cheek, thumb dragging along the line of his cheekbone.
"It's totally broken, isn't it?"
He tightens his mouth and gives a small nod. "Oh yeah, no question."
You frown, something sweet and aching blooming in your chest. Poor sweet, pathetic man. You press the bag back against his nose and Dick grimaces as a few rolls shift, redistributing their weight.
"Sorry," you say softly. "I think they're thawing."
"Hmm. You think?" There's no real bite to it, just teasing.
You roll your eyes affectionately, applying slight pressure to hold the bag steady. It shifts again—barely, a minuscule movement—and Dick lets out an exaggerated whimper.
"Ouch."
"Oh please, that didn't hurt. You're such a faker."
You've seen him take hits that would hospitalize a normal person. Watched him shrug off injuries that make your stomach turn. But here, now, with just the two of you, he turns into this—soft and needy and dramatic about the smallest discomforts.
You love it.
Dick grins, unapologetic, and reaches a hand to hold the bag against his nose. The other grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from his cheek, and he guides it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your palm.
"Why are you being so sassy to me, hm?" you ask.
"Because I was so excited to fuck my beautiful girlfriend, and instead I broke my nose on her bedframe."
The words send heat curling through your stomach—a reminder of where this night was supposed to go. You laugh, opening your mouth to respond, when you find yourself thinking about how he'd bought the frame just last week.
He'd been very enthusiastic about having bedposts, for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with aesthetics and everything to do with other nights. Silk ties and murmured praise and—
"What is it?" Dick asks, watching your expression shift.
You shake your head, trying to dismiss it, but the image of him begins to replay in your mind. His widening eyes, the split second of realization, the sound of impact. Fighting back your laugher, you attempt to distract yourself by running your fingers through his hair.
His face falls, unamused. "You're thinking about me falling, aren't you?"
Your chest is tight with barely contained glee, eyes almost prickling with tears. "I'm sorry! It was just so funny."
"I'm glad my pain amuses you," he mutters, but he's biting back a smile.
The laughter breaks free now, spilling out of you. "And you, of all people. So much for those quick, agile reflexes, huh?"
Dick pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, looking away as he shakes his head. "You're so mean, you know that? A real bully, laughing in the face of a wounded man."
"You love me."
"I love you," he agrees without hesitation, and your laugh turns soft.
Your fingers are still in his hair, gentle and soothing, and his eyes have gone half-lidded from the attention.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the doctor?" you ask quietly.
"I've had worse."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I'm giving."
He removes the bag from his nose, setting it on the covers beside him, and you immediately start to protest. "You should—"
"C'mere," he says, hands reaching for your hips, pulling you forward.
You resist, hands now bracing against his shoulders. "Dick, you're hurt—"
"Yeah, my nose." He looks almost offended that you're protesting. "Not my lap. Sit."
There's something so affectionate in his insistence, so earnest in his need to have you close, that you let him pull you down, settling carefully onto his thighs as his arms immediately wrap around your waist.
He tries to bury his face against your neck—instinct, muscle memory—but pulls back with a wince when his nose makes contact with your skin.
"Okay, maybe not that," he mutters, and you chuckle softly, fingers carding through his hair once more.
"Yeah, maybe not."
You sit like that for a moment, in the quiet of your bedroom, Dick's hands tracing patterns on your lower back through his shirt. The pizza rolls slowly thaw beside you.
"You know," Dick says eventually, his voice slightly muffled. "I still think that bedframe was a good investment."
You grin and begin to imagine all the ways you can use it.
AUTHORS NOTE: this started off as smut but then i was like lol imagine he tripped and then i was sucked in my by love for silly, goofy couples. hes just so boyfriend to me asdfgj
as always, thank you for reading and please lmk if you enjoyed <3 i operate entirely on positive reinforcement like a dog with treats hehehe
ᴄᴡ : jason todd x fem! reader , fluffノcomfort , a little angsty -> near death experience , straight haired reader , possible inaccuracies about jason and medical stuff , probably ooc , first fic i've written in a few weeks so it may be a lil rusty , art by @/ciricearts on insta , read on ao3 here , ᴡᴄ : 𝟷.𝟻ᴋ
"baby? hey— hey, don't fall asleep— no no, stay with me,"
how on earth did jason let this happen? it was a normal day, as ever, you never truly see these things coming, especially when you live in gotham: the crime hub of the country. but this time, it wasn't that, it wasn't something he could have prevented, yet he can't help but feel responsible.
it was his idea. he packed your bags the night before while you slept, and woke you to a surprise trip to metropolis. leaving gotham is always difficult for jason, he always feels like he's letting the criminals of gotham run free. at least batman is still in gotham — their ideologies may clash, but at least someone is helping gotham. jason just thought you needed a break; a break from your job that overworks and underpays you, a break from jason coming home deep into the night while you sleep, not being able to catch you before you go to work. you just needed some time off of life, and as much as he hated to admit it himself, the thought of spending one night enjoying himself with his beloved girlfriend over beating criminals and taking down drug rings sounded pretty nice.
but he never expected this.
a whole alien invasion. it's almost comical when he thinks about it, why on earth would he be allowed to have a day off, even in a different city? the justice league was on the job, superman zoomed around in the sky while flashes of red and yellow zoom past, green flickering in his peripherals.
but all his attention was on you.
he couldn't get you out in time; the hotel's top floors were smashed to smitherines before anyone even knew it. luckily the two of you were staying in the middle floors, but the impact wasn't just left upstairs. ceilings were caving in, glass shattering, walls collapsing. superman did his best to help evacuate the hotel guests, but he could only be so quick in such a small amount of time.
the ceiling fell in just as he was leading you out the hallway. you were holding his hand as tight as you could, letting him pull you along as he ran as fast as he could. but the speed was too much for you and you tripped flat onto your front. jason turned around, leaning down to get you back up, but at the last second the ceiling crashed down onto you, trapping you and crushing you underneath.
the sharp cry you let out will haunt him for eternity, he thinks, he's never heard you make such a pained noise before, the memory of your bones crunching under the concrete nearly made him gag. when he pulled you out, blood was dripping down your forehead while the rest of your body was covered in scrapes, cuts, and bruises.
jason got you away from the danger as quickly as he could, laying you in his lap as he now waits for the ambulance to arrive. it's taking longer than usual of course, most ambulances are trying to make their way through the catastrophe. he just has to keep you going until the ambulance arrives.
"c'mon— hey, it's okay… it's okay…"
his voice trembles nearly as much as his hands do as he presses a piece of his ripped tshirt to your wounded forehead, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. your lids flutter, lashes caked in tears and dust from the crumbling building you were in. your lids feel so heavy, eyes straining from the daylight still shining despite the otherwordly invasion just a few blocks away. he can't have you falling asleep just yet though, you might not wake up again.
"jay—…"
the way your voice cracks just breaks his heart, he can't bear to see how scared you are — he knows exactly how that feels. he shushes you gently, petting a hand over your hair in a poor attempt to soothe the pain that wreaks havoc on your body.
"i—it's gonna be okay… just— just hang in there…"
his lungs tighten with each word, the lump in the back of his throat growing more and more. he can't lose you, not like this, not ever. he'd be so lost, just wandering the earth mindlessly without your guidance. he tucks a bloodied lock of hair behind your ear, thumbing away the dirt speckling your cheeks. so pretty, even like this…
the wail of sirens approaches, and jason let's out a breath he never realised he was holding. while he can patch up some casual injuries, but he can only do so much with little supplies and shaky hands. the EMTs pack you up into the ambulance faster than jason could blink, quickly following into the vehicle to sit next to you, holding your hand on the ride over as you're hooked up to the equipment.
۶ৎ
a few hours of surgery and examinations later, you're asleep in the metropolis hospital bed, an iv in your arm, a cast wrapped around your leg, and a bandage covering the gash on your forehead. a broken leg, a few cracked ribs, a fractured hip, and a concussion. that's what the doctors told him just before you went into surgery, not to mention all the surface level injuries you have. but the surgery went well, you're safe, and the danger has been dealt with thanks to the justice league.
jason sits on a chair next to you, thumb rubbing soothing circles against the palm of your hand. the sky outside is much darker than before, the moon hanging high in the sky, reflecting light down onto the city of metropolis. you were supposed to be home tonight, back in your cosy, little, shared apartment. safe — or as safe as you can be in gotham. but you'll have to stay in the hospital for at least a week, maybe more. even after that, you'll have to have close care to help you recover.
maybe he should take you to the mansion.
his thoughts are interupted by a small noise coming from your parted, chapped lips, your lids fluttering open as your eyes dart around the room.
"hey sweetheart…"
your boyfriend perks up, a soft smile curling on his lips as he leans closer, brushing his hand over your matted hair once again. he lets out a second relieved breath for today. you look all woozy, lids blinking heavily, nose scrunching as your eyes adjust to the bright, florecent lights of the hospital room. his hands still tremble as he gazes down at you, eyes full of love.
"mm— jay…"
you slur, vision foggy and head feeling like it weighs a thousand tonnes. you're still all drugged up, barely able to feel anything but your boyfriend's soothing touches, his thumb massaging circles into your stiff neck, grounding you.
"i know… you're all loopy, huh?"
the warm smile on his face doesn't reach his eyes, his voice quivers as he talks, trying to keep a brave face for you the best he can, but it's only natural that he can't. he almost lost you; the thought that haunts his dreams and most anxious nights nearly came true.
"mh… yeah…"
you don't seem to notice his emotional display, not until the tears well up in his eyes as he leans closer. you hand raises, uncoordinated — the drugs leaving your fine motor skills depleated — attempting to stroke his cheek, but you end up just hitting him weakly. jason understands though, letting out an amused huff as he holds your hand to his cheek, nuzzling into it.
"fuck— thought i was gonna lose you…"
he chuckles, fingers tracing the bandage around your head, eyeing the bump where the gauze is held to your stitched up wound. his poor baby… if only he was quicker, if only the two of you just stayed in gotham… none of this would have happened. you're clearly still a bit too drugged up to understand what's going on, or what happened, or why tears are running down your boyfriends cheeks, so you just coax him forwards, letting him lay his head on your chest — careful to avoid your injuries — as you card your fingers through his hair clumsily. despite the occassional pull and tug, the affection helps relieve his rapid, pounding heart.
he may not have been able to prevent this, but he's going to be the best caretaker he possibly can be in your recovery. taking you to wayne manor is the last place he'd like to go, but for you, he'll do it. he'll do anything to make sure you're okay, even if that means living with bruce once again.
it doesn't take long for you to fall back asleep and he lets you, admiring how your lids flutter and your lips pout, admiring what he nearly lost, who he can't be more happier to still have in his arms, warm and breathing, and still oh so pretty.
ᴀɴ : not super proud of this... but i might write a part 2, no promises :p ( do not ask for one )
hockey player!dick grayson who you’ve been dating for a little over two years. Secretly, of course. with his position on the Titans, his status as a wayne, and the sheer amount of fan girls he has, going public would’ve been practically a death sentence.
hockey player!dick grayson who makes you wear his jersey to every game, and it’s not one of those mass produced ones either. no, it’s always one that smells like him, that he’s actually played in. before every game, he swears up and down that you wearing it is good luck, and every win he’s had was because you were watching. you always roll your eyes at his antics, but wear the jersey anyway.
hockey player!dick grayson who loves to cuddle with you in bed after games, cozied up with hot chocolate and more than a couple bruises from overly aggressive opponents. Dick's hair is damp and cold against his pillow while his hands cup a warm mug of hot chocolate. a little garland decorates the windowsill looking out over the quainter areas of gotham. one perk of dating a wayne who's also a famous hockey player is that you get to live in the gated, less-crime-filled communities you'd only dream of as a kid. now that there's a bite to the air, you've insisted on watching those nostalgic christmas movies. you've lost count of how many times you've fallen asleep next to dick while home alone keeps playing.
hockey player!dick grayson who of course, has a private rink tucked away in your basement. more often than not when you come back from work he's down there practicing. sometimes you take the time to watch him, and study the way his back muscles ripple underneath his loose practice jersey. if you could paint him, you would. to reach out and grasp him, turn him into swirling oil paints, immortalize the man that is dick grayson onto a canvas, that's what you dream of.
hockey player!dick grayson who is head over heels for you. Jason and Tim complain to you all the time about it. How Dick whines about missing you on patrol, and whenever a mission out of gotham is needed, Dick brings back a whole suitcase full of souvenirs.
a/n: i got WAYY to carried away with the oil painting part 😭 also ik dick lives in bludhaven but gotham's name is better so lets pretend he doesn't
Adrian and you have developed a rather close friendship, and Adrian wants to ensure you get ample bonding time together. He really likes you and wants to have a stronger connection. You, on the other hand, really want him. All because of a friendly massage, you're left reeling.
Tags/warnings: 18+/MDNI, mature language, Adrian Chase x Reader, no use of y/n, true neutral reader descriptions (No hair, skin color, body descriptions), pining, slight miscommunication, everybody say hi to Adebayo and Economos they’re in here for 5 seconds, pwp, dry humping, unprotected sex, cream pie, cowgirl/cowboy, Switch!Adrian, make-this-man-whimper.com, Demi!Adrian, ND!Adrian, I am projecting onto him a little bit sorry chat, Consent is King, slowish burn, fluff, slight emotionally avoidant behavior, both Reader and Adrian don’t want to confess
an: Hiiiii this is my first published fic ever. Long-time reader, first-time author y’know the deal. Bit of a forewarning: I have not watched Peacemaker directly. I had friends who watched it and have consumed a metric shit ton of fan content. I know that’s not the same as watching the show, so I apologize for any egregious OOC moments. This may or may not have been kickstarted by my own desires for a massage.
૮ • ﻌ - ა .ᐟ✮⋆˙.𖥔 ݁ ݁˖
The day had been agonizing. Running and climbing, hitting and getting hit, and Christ you were only being fueled by burnt coffee and... Four hours of sleep? Five if you're being generous. God knows you haven't been collected enough to keep a sense of time.
To top it all off, your very wonderful colleague and self-declared best friend is greeting you as you slump through your front door. He's oh-so-respectful as he lounges comfortably on your couch, eating your cereal, and using your TV to watch the news.
"Welcome home," his eyes are wide as he analyzes your disheveled soul.
Normally in this state you'd give him some blunt response before asking him to get the fuck out of your house, but alas: your body was losing on all fronts. Instead, you drag your feet to the nearest flat surface to drop your duffel bag from your aching shoulders. Adrian is speaking, but not loud enough to overtake the fog surrounding your brain. As the weight of your bag shifts off of your body, a sharp ache spreads along your neck and shoulders.
A wince escapes you as you attempt to soothe the muscles. Your unwelcome guest hasn't stopped talking, the words "crazy" and "awesome" pop into focus before you cut him off: "Adrian, why are you here?"
You see the wheels turning in his head before he matter-of-factly responds: "Should I not be?"
No. Adrian should not be here. He doesn't live here. You would love nothing more than to have an empty couch to fall onto. You want to be alone to suffer in your aching muscles and joints and bruises. Instead, you have Adrian greeting you.
It started as him coming by when he was bored and knew you were home. Then he would tag along with you after gatherings, and then after you were both done with work. You slowly got more familiar and the lines started to blur. You didn't live far from his mom's house, so it began to feel like you were both little kids on summer vacation. Well, to Adrian it felt that way. That's why he started showing up unannounced. And without you being home.
You had ignored your growing frustration with his sudden visits because he always looked so happy to see you. It felt nice coming home to a bright eyed doofus who would talk your ear off. The problem lied in how it all changed without any formal conversation. Casually, his life bled into yours, with no rules discussed. You had plenty in common. You both loved niche animal facts, often watching YouTube documentaries or trivia compilations. One of the earliest memories you had with him was you going bar-for-bar about great white shark facts at the office. He insisted they had two pairs of jaws.
"Like a xenomorph?" you howled with laughter.
"No! Like-- like they're stacked on top of each other!" he stammered between laughs as he demonstrated with his curled hands overlapping.
Through tears you explained that they have rows of teeth, but only one pair of jaws. Then it turned into a regular competition, you two would go back and forth on various nerdy subjects. Adrian didn't avert his attention from you when talking, but you saw the annoyance spread on nearby faces at his excitement. You became attached at the hip afterwards, and slowly you went from one of his favorite people to his "number one best friend" after long enough. With how he was treated, it wasn't much of a competition.
Despite all of the endearing parts of him, and your genuine care towards him, you want your private domicile to be private right now.
"You know I don't always mind when you come over," you start to explain before he cuts you off.
"'Always' like... Like right now you mind," he looked like you took away his gameboy for the night.
"Right now, until I can recharge my crumbling body, yes," you continued.
Turning the TV off, he rises with his empty cereal bowl in hand. He nodded silently, little apologies flitting in his head. His brain began to rewire what was and was not acceptable between you two, and tried to find where he should've done better.
"Sorry, should've known after patrol you'd want alone time, I'll uh--" he turned to the kitchen, "I'll wash my bowl out and leave you be," he smiled an empty smile towards you as he marched to the kitchen sink.
A pang of guilt hit your sternum like a .22 caliber. You shouldn't feel bad about kicking him out, he doesn't live with you. A little voice in your head is murmuring desires and wishes, though. How, maybe, it wouldn't be too bad if he stayed. Maybe he could help ease your aching. The image of your empty home flashed, with an indent in your couch of where he sat patiently waiting for you. It wrenched your heart out. You spoke before you could think.
"Well-" The sink shut off immediately, Adrian turning to listen to you, "You don't have to leave. I just need some alone time to deal with my back," you were picturing a nice hot bath, maybe laying on the floor of your bedroom for a while. Anything to ease the tension around your neck.
"What's wrong with your back?" he was beside you in a blink. His face was studying your outfit, looking for any scrapes or holes that would indicate an injury. He was concerned in an analytical sense, wanting to help you avoid further damage. Your hand works up to the juncture of your shoulder and neck, deeply rubbing the cords of muscle.
"It just aches like crazy today," your grimace doesn't help hide your discomfort. Your shoulders and upper back have been aching more and more as the weeks have gone on. You always had difficulty with muscle tension, and how lucky are you to have such dutiful shoulders to bear all your anxieties. There was a thought to buy yourself a muscle massager for the holidays, but you never managed to.
As you rub your tender aches, you nearly forget that Adrian is beside you. That is, until he speaks: "I could give you a massage."
You freeze. Entirely. The electricity in your brain fries every neuron. Your lungs still, as does your hand. For a brief second, your shoulders no longer ache. The concept of Adrian working your muscles loose is enough to soothe them for a moment. The silence hangs heavily. You turn your gaze to his eyes expecting to see a smirk or a shred of sarcasm, instead you find his deeply genuine gaze. He's being serious.
"You know how to give massages?" you huff out a little laugh to disperse the tension building.
"Yeah! I watched a couple videos a while ago, it's good for your health and circulation and all that so... I don't know I thought it was important to learn," he takes a couple steps to situate himself in front of you. "It's just your back, right? That's simple enough," he goes to grab your arm before stopping himself, "Do you want that? If not, that's totally cool!"
His eyes are beaming and that boyish smile is beneath them. Your mind calculates, and that little voice begins murmuring again. Surely he has some motive. He wants to talk to you and knows your mind is preoccupied on the pain... so he's eliminating obstacles to his conversational desires. He's not offering a deeply intimate action for any purpose other than that. That's not how Adrian operates. He wouldn't want to touch you otherwise. That little voice talks about a warmth spreading between you two. How maybe the famously apathetic and disconcerting Vigilante could be looking at you with a deeper affection. You blow the little voice's head off.
A sigh is released from your tight lungs, "You know... Sure. I'll take anything at this point." Adrien let's out a quiet "yay" before grabbing your arm and leading you to your couch. You cross your legs and get situated, your back facing him.
He claps his hands, "Now, let's keep your clothes on. Don't want this to get weird, right?"
Your face heats up, "Man, I wasn't even thinking of doing that." He laughs. It's a bit of a cackle. You can see his face in your mind, the way his smile splits. It makes your face even hotter.
"Who knows what's going on in your head, freak..." he jokes.
You feign an appalled gasp, "You're the freak! Using my spare key to squat in my house while I'm gone, who does that?" His weight shifts behind you. You swear you could feel his breath fan across your exposed back. Your throat dries.
He responds, "A really good friend, that's who," his hands land on your shoulders before applying pressure. Before you could think to stop it, your skull drops forward. Eyes glide shut, the feeling of Adrian's hands tracing along your muscles overwhelms you. "Let me know if any of this hurts too much," his tone is a chipper contrast to the pit of velvet warmth you find yourself in. Chewing your lip to swallow any involuntary noises, you nod your head to respond to him.
The sound of his hands against the fabric of your shirt filled your ears. His breathing followed suit, then little hums he sang out. Was this relaxing to him too? "Enjoying yourself?" you prod jokingly.
"Yeah, actually," his fingers tap along your back, "I'm gonna push a little harder, you got wicked tension going on... You always this high strung?"
A laugh escapes you, "You have no-" he presses hard into a knot above your shoulder blade. You wince and all words die on your tongue. His thumb drives deeper and deeper into the taught muscle. Your mind runs blank. A deep comforting pain washes through your fibers. All that energy courses to your cheeks. Weak whimpers emit from between your lips as the muscles melt.
"So noisy..." he teases as his thumbs rub soothing ovals on your limp shoulders. You want to bite back. He of all people should not be commenting on noise. Yet his voice keeps looping in your head. The timbre of it, the sing-songy tone, it repeats and repeats. That little voice returns with a vengeance to whisper in your ear what that phrase would sound like... Closer.
Before you can carry yourself too far away, you feel an absence. His hands have removed themselves from your back. Adrian huffs out a contented sigh and pats your shoulders roughly.
"There! All relaxed now?" he giggles. Your mind snaps awake, the clarity a bitter drink. A nod, a shuffle, as you attempt to hide your boiling skin from him.
"Thanks, man..." you urge out unconvincingly.
He doesn't notice, thankfully, "No broblem, Pob!"
He flashes the most egregious grin towards you as you reposition your seat. You steel what little composure you can muster to playfully shove at him and roll your eyes.
He cackles away, "But seriously, you alright now? If you still hurt I can get you an ice pack or something--" he lightly grinds his elbow against your side, "can't have my number one fall to some preventable injury shit."
You swallow thickly and nod, still attempting to shake your brain back to reality. He, unfortunately, notices this time. "Wait, are you gonna puke or something? Massages release like acids and-- shit sorry uh, wait right here!" And off he goes to grab your bathroom garbage bin. At least you get a moment to yourself.
You'd never had such overt thoughts about Adrian before this, right? Wracking through your brain you try to find the source of this insesent desire. He's physically attractive, and his smile's pretty cute, it's not like you were opposed to the idea wholeheartedly. Maybe you'd been caught making googly eyes at him a few times when everyone would get together outside of work. And yeah, maybe after a few drinks his typical energy and goofiness had warmed you more than liquor could.
Maybe it wasn't the booze. Maybe you'd always felt this way, a little bit. A lot... A bit. You physically rattle your brain to focus up. Adrian didn't feel that way towards you. He doesn't feel things like that. Right?
Quick as a flash, Adrian slides in beside you with the bin placed between your knees.
"I'm not gonna puke, Ade," you smile at the very thoughtful action.
"Really? Cus you looked kinda... I dunno like a puker," he bends further down to try and lock eyes with you.
"I'm alright, really," you urge, "thank you for helping me out."
That grin crosses his face again before he responds, “It's bonding! Glad I didn't bust your shoulders up." He lightly pats your shoulder before turning the TV back on.
You sink further into the cushions. Adrian puts on a nature documentary and talks all the way through it, while you eventually slouch into a blissful nap.
The week that follows is typical. Adrian never brought up the massage again, but it was constantly being remembered by you. Any glimpse of his hands and you were back on the couch. The disturbing twist of memory and imagination entwined as the picture of him inches away from your spine flash as you type away a report. His broad and firm hands repeat phantom actions on your shoulders as your eyes slip shut. A jolt of fear shoots through you as real, warm hands clamp on your taught shoulders.
"Hey, up-and-at-em!" Adebayo laughs. You jostle your shoulders and sigh. Spinning to face her dazzling smile, and wiping Adrian's visage from your mind.
"Sorry, didn't get much sleep last night..." you lie.
"Right, I bet Chase keeps you up all night long," she winks. You knew how she meant it, but you couldn't help the embarrassment that bubbled up at the thought of her teasing you for a crush.
"Does he still crash at your place twice a week?" she laughs.
"It's more like... 3-5 times a week nowadays," you find the wall of your cubicle oddly interesting.
"Really? You let him do that to you?"
You laugh at her incredulous reaction, "He's not putting me out, and I appreciate the company," you turn and shut your laptop before returning to face her as you stand, "I like having him around."
She shakes her head as she laughs, "Hey, I like the guy but I dunno how you don't get tired of him..." The pair of you walk towards the nearest vending machine.
"He's got charm," you shrug.
Ads responds quickly: "The violent, cruel justice, kill-you-for-jaywalking kinda charm?"
You hold back statistics you'd gathered on jaywalking from a previous argument you had with Adrian and instead reply with a laugh, "Yeah, something like that.”
Adebayo doesn't laugh. You plug in a few quarters into a drink machine. She's looking at you with a steady gaze. "You wanna fuck him."
As you're about to bend to grab your drink, you swivel to face her. Shock paints your face as you whip your head around the office space. No one in earshot seems to have noticed.
"No! What? What the hell makes you say that?" you panic. You let it slip a bit too obviously, then again it had been a growing suspicion of her's for a while.
She just nods at you, perfectly understanding your psychology. "Yeah... You want it bad." she begins to walk away from you.
You call after her as you hastily grab your drink from the gutter of the machine and scamper to catch up to her, "You can't be saying that kind of stuff, people are gonna talk!"
She rolls her eyes, "People already talk. They've been talking since you watched him with those lovesick eyes when he did that dumbass song at karaoke."
That was months ago. Adrian wasn't completely oblivious, what if he overheard people talking? Would he be offended that his "number one best friend" had the hots for him this whole time? You'd only just started confronting your feelings, and you didn't want to isolate him from his most comfortable place.
Mind racing, and desperation growing, you urged: "Please, Lee, you can't let this get to him. I don't even know if I want anything with him like that. I just... Please." you're sincere in your words. Enough so that she sees the twinge of fear in your words.
She nods and lets out a diffused laugh, "Don't worry, I'm not that kind of asshole. Just keep it at home.” With that she walks off to continue her business. Leaving you to stew in your paranoia of who has said what about you and the rock calcifying in your chest.
Time wears on through the day, and eventually a chair rolls up to you. Seated in it is a slightly sweaty yet energized Adrian. "Hey, bud! How's the paper pushing been?"
Without looking you flatly respond, "Boring as shit."
Without really responding, Adrian begins: "Hey! I was thinking we could watch an old shitty sci-fi movie tonight and shoot the shit, what d'ya say?"
You nod immediately, "Sure, Ade, what movie?"
He leans back in his chair and spins while blowing raspberries through his grinning lips. "Well..." he dramatically announces, "we could watch Invasion of the Saucer-Men, or The Monster That Challenged the World..." A snort could be heard from behind you.
Economos chimed in, "So any monster movie where a distressed and barely clothed woman is on the poster?"
Adrian laughs, "Yeah! Tell-tale sign of a shit fest," he turns to you, "either of those pique your peaks?" If he had one, his tail would be swaying excitedly. His eyes are bright and his posture is stick straight as he awaits your answer.
You hum, "Well, I have to know how challenging that monster was. Y'know-- for occupational purposes."
You enter your home with Adrian in toe. Kicking off your shoes and setting down your bag, you notice Adrian quickly makes his way to the kitchen.
"You hungry?" he announces as he rips open the freezer of your fridge.
"Are you?" you laugh as you join him in the kitchen.
Placing a box of taquitos he brought over who-knows-how-long ago on the counter, he replies, "Absolutely starving. I mean, I'm completely ravenous over here. You could lay anything out in front of me right now and I'd eat it all."
As he opens various boxes and begins to heat up an exquisite frozen platter for two, you can't help but suffer your wandering mind. You imagine yourself laid out on your counter instead, with him kneeling on the tile and his hands placed just where he should've had them last week--
"Yo, ground control to major Tom, you okay?" he nudges your leg with his foot. "All those spreadsheets melt your brain? You know they should really give you a mandatory break from that stuff to rest your eyes," he turns his focus back on the microwave as the plate spins.
Since when did he care about your bodily well-being so much? "You've been awfully considerate of me lately, you planning my euthanization or something?"
He laughs, "Not yet, ol' yeller." The microwave beeps and he quickly pulls the plate from the machine.
"Yet? So it's on the horizon?" you joke, though with your line of work it's never out of the realm of possibility that one of you would be required to point your gun…
You shake the thought as you realize Adrian is about to put a burning hot taquito right into his maw. "Ade third degree tongue burns, think of the texture on your tongue." Immediately, out of imagined sensory hell, Adrian places the tempting but offensively warm snack down.
"Since when did you get so considerate?" he parrots in a teasing tone. Waltzing past you, he moves to the living room.
You follow suit, "Since you started being my unofficial roommate," you respond, "plus I'd like to avoid having to ice your tongue for you."
He let's out a rough laugh, "You'd still do it for me, you're nice like that." he sticks out his tongue as he reaches for the remote.
His tongue. His stupid face. The thought of him on his knees flashes back into your mind. You force it back into the void it was birthed from. Replacing it is a jarring orchestra. The music flowing from your TV is grainy, with the characteristic warmth of old movies. Right, the movie you agreed to watch. The movie you should be casting your focus onto. Definitely not focusing on the bizarre man beside you. The bizarre man who is staring at you.
"You alive?" he asks. Your pulse skyrockets, a definite affirmative.
"Yeah? Why?" you turn to respond.
His arm is placed along the back of the couch, mere inches from your shoulder. He leans and pokes you right in the trapezius. You wince slightly at the prodding. Your neck had regained tension in the week following his gracious service. You absolutely were not going to ask him to continue pampering you, especially with the fear of him catching onto you ever present.
He twists his face and looks between you and the TV. He was weighing things in his mental scale. "Adrian, we can just watch the movie--"
He interrupts you with a question, "Which is a better bonding activity?" he turns his head to face you.
"They're both good, let's just watch the movie," you attempt to reassure him.
"But you're uncomfortable, so it's not the better activity," he argues.
You won't be able to find a logical way out of this without outright denying a massage, which will lead to more of his questions. Why don't you want a massage? Is he bad at it? Does he make you uncomfortable? Or do you feel too hot and bothered to accept another? Adrian will accept your refusal regardless, but you worry over the ramifications. It's not like you never want his hands on you again.
"I'm not that stiff, let me settle into the couch and we'll see how I feel later," you wager and luckily your bet pays off.
"Alright, whatever you feel," he drops the subject. You both return your focus to the film just in time to witness a monstrous shadow terrorize a sailor. The man's expression is ridiculous and pathetic.
"Come on! It's just a little eldritch abomination, we fight those like all the time!" Adrian cuts up. The oceanic monster continues to terrorize the boat as you two laugh away at their antics.
"Upstanding men of the 50's pissed themselves at the sight of anything dripping wet," you shake your head in morose disappointment.
Adrian giggles, "Are men of the current age any braver?"
You immediately respond, "I don't know, are you?"
You were never the most clever person in the room. Adrian was cunning in his own right, but words would often fly over his head. Not this time.
He cracks a grin and speaks, "I'm not prone debauchery, but I'm no bitch either," his chest puffs out just a bit as he glances over to witness your reaction.
Through laughs you respond, "'Prone to debauchery'? You sound like the dorkiest virgin ever."
Adrian's chest slumps, "I'm not a virgin! I just don't do it a lot, it's not really a thing I think about," he reaches for the finger food on the coffee table and happily munches a couple crunchy morsels.
That makes you a whore, you reason. Not only are you thinking about it quite frequently, but you're thinking of this man in the filthiest ways. A pervert, a wretch, that's you.
"What about you, huh? You never talk about your private life," he questions. You stare blankly at the screen. You're not processing what's happening but trying to appear engrossed all the same. Adrian doesn't drop it. "I know all about what Chris does, Adebayo too I guess, and they know all about me," he nudges you a little, "you don't gotta tell me tell me but... It's a bonding thing, right?"
Before you can come up with a dismissive answer he continues, "I mean you don't bring anyone around so I guess I have somewhat of an answer there," he's smirking a little.
"I can't bring anyone around because you're always here!" you find an out.
"I'd leave immediately if you have a booty call, you know that!" he leads you to a dead end, "Who would you bring here anyway? You don't really go out--" you strike him with a pillow. He laughs, "I'm just saying! No need to get hostile!"
Your face is sweltering as you attempt to gather some excuse that isn't pathetic. You know Adrian won't judge you harshly, this is all a simple conversation to him. Nothing more. "Work's been busy, and I just... Don't have the desire to bang a stranger," your eyes are glued to the screen. You watch as a helpless woman gets dragged beneath the water's surface and into the jaws of the monster.
"Well, if you ever need help with that, let me know," Adrian murmurs. You almost miss it. He adjusts himself in the couch, and you swear his hand is closer to your shoulder. That little voice returns and won't shut the fuck up about him offering "help".
The film goes on, there's a brief discussion of snail biology that Adrian finds captivating. You're totally removed from it. There's sound happening around you, sure, but in your head you're fixated on what he said. It boils and churns in your mind. The film regains your attention as a romantic date between two characters unfolds. You squirm in your seat. Adrian catches your discomfort.
"They should really get back to the monster shit, huh? I mean a giant snail is pretty sick," He dramatically shivers, "Imagine all of that mucus and shit covering you as you stab it to death..." You laugh before wistfully returning to the scene. You want to disregard the burning feeling in the back of your head, but you can't.
Before long enough, you ask, "What did you mean by help?"
"Huh?" Great, you have to remind him.
"Earlier, you said you'd help me with my uh..." you vaguely gesture with your hands.
He catches on, "Oh! Yeah if you ever want to, I mean I did stuff with Chris not that long ago," you remember it clearly: Adebayo's disturbed face as she recounted what happened between the two of them to you. That was just "friend" shit to him though. Bonding. What you wanted was a bit more than that, right? Could you casually sleep with the guy you've spent most of your nights alone with?
Adrian's attention snaps back to the frankly boring ass film. He's prattling about the logistics of a snail monster, how it doesn't seem very "challenging" like the title promised. "I mean, fuck, it’s a giant snail. Okay? Cool? I guess? Just shoot it with some salt. Carthage that bitch," You realize then, very quickly, that you couldn't be casual about it.
It's ridiculous, he is ridiculous, but you've found a deep attachment to him. He'd sit at the foot of your bed and be an ever present force beside you if you asked. He's loyal to a fault, and despite him saying otherwise he is deeply emotional. He just feels it all differently. You found a sincerity within him, and reflections of yourself in his mannerisms. "Also-- the WORLD? This minivan sized snail challenges the world? Really?" He puffs a laugh.
Every morning you’d love to have him. Whether it’s just a warm body to lie next to or a heat to envelop you with need, you wanted Adrian. That much had been made clear to you. Recounting the first day you caught him in your home, he was oddly emotional. He mumbled something about wanting to get out of his house, and how he wanted to make sure you got home okay. You played video games together until he couldn’t stop smiling. You made his life brighter, and he made yours a glimmering sun.
The days after that he’d make himself useful to you. He’d clean up your kitchen, or offer to fold your laundry. He wasn’t completely parasitic to your humble home. To you, despite the sudden intrusions, his presence more than made up for it. You were constantly surrounded by people you felt you didn’t resemble. You didn’t have the right words to say in the proper order in any conversation. You would be met with odd glances and interactions you were certain you “failed” time and time again. With Adrian, however, none of that mattered. He was direct and honest, brutally so. He was what you wanted, even if he was a psycho killer weirdo.
Adrian cheers as the 12 foot snail, centipede creature is slain in the final minutes of the film. "Do you think we should bring fire extinguishers with us? Is that good monster deterrent?"
You hum, "I think guns do the trick just fine, Ade."
He ponders a moment before arguing, "What if you're all out of ammo? Bet a fire extinguisher could save the day,"
You laugh, "Have fun carrying one around then." Getting up from the couch, you carry away the now empty snack plate.
He follows you closely. "Is your back still hurting? You never said it stopped," You'd imagine he'd forget by now.
"It always feels a little stiff, it can't be helped," you shrug as you place the plate into your dishwasher. He purses his lips. You attempt to steer him down a different path and back to the couch, “What next? The night is young," That little voice whispers about him "helping" you with your back and then grabbing your waist and tipping you forward until your chest-- "I could beat your ass in Mario Kart," you sound a bit panicked when you say it. It was an attempt to silence your rapidly developing mental porno. Adrian still had that look on his face. He hadn't turned to follow you back to the couch.
"Adrian?" you hadn't seen him this concentrated in a while. He was staring into your kitchen sink like it was a puzzle. "Earth to Adrian," you pushed.
He shifted his lips before turning to you, "Do you like me?" his eyes are misty and confused.
You dumbly stare back. The pout on his features is a rare sight, and a heartbreaking contrast to his typical demeanor. “Of course I do, Ade, what’s going on?” He shrugs at you before adjusting his stance. Facing you, but not turning his gaze back to meet your own, he lightly shakes his head. You take a couple steps towards him, “Why are you asking that?”
He chews on his lip before coarsely responding, “You’ve been pretty out of it today, not really laughing at my jokes or— I dunno it just feels like you’re somewhere else,” A tense silence fills the air as you reel in a response. Before you can, he sighs and continues, “It feels like I’m annoying you.”
You immediately take a further step, now only a couple breaths apart from him. “Adrian, you are not annoying me. Never.” You have to find an explanation for your behavior that isn’t “I was daydreaming of a life with you, and of your hands down my pants” quickly.
“It’s just,” it’s technically the truth, “Adebayo talked with me today and she was teasing about us hanging out all the time, said some people might be thinking we’re…” you flap around your hands, unable to say the word for fear of heart palpitations.
“Dating?” Adrian’s eyes were a bit sad as he finished your sentence.
“Yeah, not that that’s a gross thing, or whatever, I just don’t like it when people talk behind my back. Y’know?” He nods. There’s tears in his eyes still. You continue, “That’s what I was thinking about, sorry it seemed like something else.” His eyes don’t meet yours. You cock your head to find them. You’d gotten into mixups like this before, but usually Adrian bounced out pretty quickly. You could tell something was being processed in his head, the way his eyes darted around indicating as much.
Finally, he spoke: “I heard people talking too.”
Shit.
“What’d you hear?” You try to keep your voice neutral. Indicating any foreknowledge about your rumored crush could botch the whole operation.
He plays with his hands as he looks to the ground before answering, “It’s dumb, but… I heard some people talking about how you had a thing for me a while ago,” A defibrillator to your chest would give you less of a jolt. You choose to let him finish before digging your own grave. You have a lovely spot in the backyard you’ve been eyeing for a while now.
“So I went to Chris, and he said you ‘totally do’ and tried giving me tips… But you don’t feel that way, right? So I guess he was just fucking with me,” He’s spiraling before you. He’s shaking his head with a teary smile and avoiding your eyes.
“That’s not true,” you want to lunge for him, to kiss all the tears away and to hold him so closely he melts into you forever. His eyes snap up to you, awaiting your explanation.
“I do have feelings for you, I really really do,” your throat is closing up under Adrian’s intense gaze.
“But you turned down my massage earlier?”
You shake your head and crack a laugh, “What did Chris tell you?” He had to be to blame.
“That giving you a massage would show me you felt the same way and bring us closer… He also said you’re a tight ass who probably needed one anyway,” You bust out laughing. Oh, you were going to kill Chris for sure. “I don’t think that by the way, I mean I don’t know anything about your ass and that’s a rude thing to say but like, whatever, right? You actually like me? Like, romantic feelings?” His face cracked into a huge smile at the sound of your laughter.
Calming your breaths, you respond, “I do, I have for a while,” your tone almost sheepish.
His eyes go wide and he cackles before excitedly grabbing you and running towards the couch. You laugh as you’re dragged along. He guides you onto the couch carefully, though very quickly, before plopping himself beside you.
His face was bright red, “Man, thank fucking God! I was dying here every day thinking you didn’t want anything to do with me,” He panted before running a hand over his hair.
He really sat on your couch in agony, trying to place himself in your home so he could be closer to you. So you would love him.
“How long have you felt this way?” You wanted to know how much time to make up for.
“Oh a while now, like since I crashed your place that first time, I think?” Energy radiated off of him.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
He poked your knee before mocking you, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I thought—“ You stop yourself and stare at him. His smile is wide, pure joy emitting from it. What a fucking pair of idiots you were, staring lovestruck at each other. You shake your head, “The massage advice wasn’t all bad, I owe Chris that much.”
Adrian’s head perked up, “You liked it? I thought I made you uncomfortable or something,” He played with his sleeve, pink dusting his cheeks, “Like I teased you too much during it or something.”
Heat crept up your neck, “It didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you murmured. Adrian tapped your knee with a single finger. You rose your gaze to match his. His glasses hung low on his nose, his irises peaking through his lashes.
He spoke lowly, “How did it make you feel?” Your mouth felt dry. Shame and heat filled your body, and that little voice whispered all sorts of answers into your throat.
“It made me feel… good,” You were a bit pathetic.
He tapped your knee again, “You’re more creative than that. Tell me exactly what was going through your head.”
It wasn’t often you got to see Adrian this direct. His eyes were dark. Gone was the jovial man you adored, in his place a new shade of him you craved. You corrected yourself, “It made me picture your hands everywhere. It made me want so much more. Adrian,” You took in a breath, “I wanted to feel you against me, your words in my head, and your dick shoved—“
Rushing fabric passes your sides as Adrian cages you in. His arms stationed on either side of your body, his face inches away from your own. You can feel his breath against your face and neck. His eyes are nearly black.
“Do you want that right now?” His voice is gravelly, and it scratches every inch of your body as you shiver. You’re helpless as you limply nod. He shakes his head. In a semi-serious tone he emphasizes, “Need you to say it, say: ‘I want you—“
“Adrian Chase I need you to fuck me.”
He immediately ripped off his shirt. You could feel every inch of yourself burning for him. Returning the favor, your stripped off your top. Your core felt tight and hot. His hands cautiously went to hold your waist. He looked certain, ravenous, but still nervous.
Easing him, you reached for his glasses. “These are gonna fall off anyway, right?” He holds perfectly still as you remove them from his face. Setting them onto the nearby table, once your gaze returns to his your breath stills. A bright red dust covers his face, down his neck and onto his shoulders. His lips are parted in slight awe as he calibrates.
Leaning forward, you drift a hand behind his jaw and into his curls. His eyes drop to your lips, then slowly flick back to your own. Within them he conveys his love for you, and the need burning in his chest. Tipping your head towards him, he gratefully meets you halfway. The kiss is greedy and full of desire. Adrian inhales you as he places his clamoring hands onto your waist. His firm lips work to memorize the sensation of yours upon him. Breath fails you both as you part, a foggy heat surrounding your bodies.
“You’re unreal,” he whispers as he leans into your neck. Kiss after kiss trails down your neck, across your collar bones and down your sternum. A whine escapes your lips as he lifts your hips, shifting you onto your back.
He tuts a laugh before removing his pants. “You’re gonna be noisy again?” You throw your hands over your face before moaning. His fingers tap along your thighs, “Want me to take these off for you?”
Removing your hands you find his eyes staring sweetly at you. His hands are placed beside your bent knees, and a small smile plays on his face. Nodding, you move to aid him in the endeavor. Quickly, clad in your underwear still, Adrian braces his hands on either side of your hips. His gaze drops to the apex of your thighs and drag up every inch of your exposed flesh before landing on your eyes. You feel disgustingly vulnerable beneath his gaze. Your cheeks melt as he presses his thumbs into the voids of your pelvis. A moan escapes your lips.
“Keep being noisy, baby,” He slots his pelvis against yours, the feeling of his briefs against you overwhelming. You allow your eyes to drop to witness it. He’s incredibly hard, with a pinhead sized wet spot quickly developing at the tip of his concealed cock. “I need to hear how I make you feel,” he grinds against your heat, panting out a sigh at the sensation. Granting his wish, you release a lewd chorus at the feeling. He grins wildly as he presses into you again and again and again.
“That’s it, good job,” he praises. Your face is on fire from the intensity of his stare. His cock keeps you bare for him, the sensation preventing your limbs from denying him his view. His movements increase in fervor, desperation playing on his features. Your moans are met with his whimpers and grunts.
“You’re doing so good, fuck,” he hangs his head as he increases the speed. His stiff cock now weeping well through his briefs, a trail leaking onto you. You whine, throwing your head back into the cushions,
“Adrian, please, need you,” He laughs at you, the fucking bastard.
“‘Need me’ what? Use your words, genius,” His smile was wicked. The push of his dick against the fabric of your underwear becoming unbearable.
The phantom sensation of him pumping it deep inside of you overbearing, “I need you inside, Adrian, please,” you moan pathetically.
He stills, pulling himself away from you. You watch as his core tenses, tiny jolts rocking through him. His muscles spasm in a hypnotic manner as he chokes on his breaths. His arms are locked as his thumbs push indents into your pelvis. His cock bobs slightly beneath his briefs. Tiny whimpers escape him as he calms down, before shuddering a sigh,
“Christ, you almost made me… Fuck,” He shakes his head as his eyes return to your overblown pupils. You had to ride him. No other thought crossed your mind, the all-consuming certainty was that you needed him beneath you shaking like that.
With a gentle determination, you rose from your prone position. Forcing him to sit properly on the couch, you swung a thigh over his lap before reaching for the hem of his underwear. “Wanna ride you, Ade, that sound good?” His wide eyes stared at your hands. Coming down from a near-orgasm fried his brain. You lean and kiss his damp forehead sweetly. His half-lidded eyes rise to meet your gaze. Your voice as soft and heavenly as warm honey, “Well?”
Adrian rips his briefs down his thighs before hovering his hands above your undergarments. With a light laugh, you whisper an affirmative before he makes quick work of them. He moves like he’s unwrapping a very precious present, quickly and tenderly. Completely bare before one another, you analyze every inch between you. Adrian’s toned pale skin shudders under your gaze. His eyes map out each detail of your form with a crisp sense of joy on his features. Those brilliant green eyes rise to meet yours. His face adorned with an adorable boyish smirk as he sheepishly wraps his hands around your waist.
Presenting yourself closer, you press your torso to his. He removes one hand to move it towards the apex of your thighs. Shaking, he speaks, “You sure? Like this?” His eyes are locked on where he’s about to enter you. He swallows thickly as his cock bobs in anticipation.
You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, “Yes, I’m very sure,” your eyes are warm as you tilt down to properly face him. His puppy dog eyes and awe stricken face meet you. Nodding, he grabs the base of his cock and awaits further direction. Keeping his eyes locked onto yours, he feels your thighs shift against him before the tip of himself kisses your entrance. Your mouths fall open in quiet lewd utterances.
Slowly, you allow him to breach. His eyes never waver from yours as you sink onto him. Silent moans wrack your throat as you feel each inch glide into you. He whimpers out before his hands move to your waist. Unable to prevent it, he curls into you with a shuddering sob.
“So… Fuck, you’re so hot down here,” his voice is that of a pardoned sinner. He whines as he places kisses onto your neck and collarbones.
His arms cling to you as you settle onto him. He’s sheathed fully within you, each heartbeat wrecking him even more. You huff out a menacing laugh as you grind your hips ever so slightly. Adrian groans, throwing his head back to stare up at you.
“You’re so noisy,” You tease. Gritting his jaw, Adrian places his hands onto your waist before slamming up into you from beneath. A choked moan releases from your lungs as Adrian laughs in your face.
Determined, you begin to rise and fall onto him. Slowly, a pace develops, you piercing yourself and Adrian falling further and further into you. His hands grip your flesh as you move. He grits his teeth, insisting on being less vocal than you. You make quick work of wearing him out from that ridiculous concept. With a pointed desire: you form a pattern of raising then crashing into a tantalizing grind onto him, then going quicker and quicker. Adrian’s eyes close in bliss as he releases a throaty moan beneath you.
Softly, through little gasps, Adrian prays to you. A litany of praises fall from his babbling lips, a string of “so good, so good,” and “please, please, please,” that all fade into blissful whimpers. You always loved how much he talked.
Close as clothes to skin, you lean to his ear, “Wanna know something?” Adrian nods fervently. You let the little voice win over.
“I’ve been daydreaming of this— of you, for a whole week,” Adrian’s hands grip your waist tighter.
He locks his jaw in a tight clench before nodding his head and humming a sweet “Mm-hmm?”
Splitting a breathless smile, you continue, “That day you gave me that— that massage?” You have to catch your breath as you pound onto him pointedly. Adrian’s knuckles turn a bone white as he grounds himself. “You could’ve fucked me, wanted you to. God, I needed you to,” you moan as the image flows into your head. Then the memory of him desperately rutting against you mere moments ago, it builds and builds behind your skull. “Didn’t think you wanted me like this, thought all this time that— I was some lewd freak for thinking all that,” you laugh at yourself.
Adrian’s eyes meet yours as his jaw falls slack. “Whenever you want me, I’m yours. I’m all yours, always,” He pants out. Pure desperation and sincerity paints his irises. He pistons his hips up to meet yours in a salacious fever. “I’m all fucking yours, so long as…” He pants headily as his eyes bounce between your eyes and your lips.
You grip his shoulders as you increase your speed, “I’m yours, too, Adrian— and you’re mine, all mine,” Adrian releases a tight and whiny curse as he quickly grips your neck and slams his lips onto yours. Lightning fast movements, desperate utterances, and the lewd chorus of your skin echoing off the walls of your shared home finish with shaking moans and tense muscles. Adrian releases you to witness your shaking thighs grip his own. An empty gasp and a short cuss escape his lips as he watches his cock pulse within you.
Lungs rapidly filling with and expelling air, the pair of you settle in due time. Adrian’s eyes remain locked onto your joining. Slowly, his spend leaks down and around his softening cock from within you. He shudders as he reflexively bucks into your oversensitive hole. Wracking a moan through you, your hands flex against Adrian’s shoulders. Adrian peels his eyes from his new favorite view to meet his favorite person’s gaze. Above him, you glow a warmth he had been craving his whole life. A small smile about your lips, totally disheveled otherwise. Beneath you, Adrian exudes pure love. Your heart skips entire measures as it hits you with full force.
Sticky and spent, you lean down and kiss Adrian on the bridge of his nose. His eyes fall closed in bliss before tilting his head to meet your lips. He breathes you in as though you’re his first taste of true oxygen. Slowly parting, Adrian moves to rest his head upon your chest. The uncomfortable state of your skin begins to affect both of you. Gently, you lift Adrian’s head and raise your hips from him. Through gritted teeth, he reacts to your absence from around him. On wobbly legs, you stand in front of him. You reach to his hands and weave your fingers. “How’s a shower sound?”
Sweetly, clumsily, and with the typical level of banter and laughter expected of Adrian, you both complete bathing. Remarkably, well cleaned and without slipping over one another. He’s calmer than normal, and incredibly clingy. While you’re getting dressed again, his hands are all over you. He’s helping you put on every article of clothing. He has to, in his own eyes.
“Thank you…” He murmurs into your shoulder.
“You don’t have to thank me, Ade,” You place your hand onto his freshly clothed chest. Studying his nervous gaze, you await his statement.
He continues, “I mean, thank you for liking me. I was so worried for… a while that I was just going to weird you out if I confessed,” he shakes his head, avoiding eye contact, “I mean I thought you wouldn’t like me back, that there’d be no way you did actually—“ he laughs at himself.
You rub your thumb on his chest and attempt to meet his gaze, forcing him to feel your presence and adoration. His glimmering irises meet you.
His lip is chewed raw before he finishes, “Do you wanna date me, like officially?”
You nod, smiling at his boyishness, “I do, Adrian.” He flashes a bright grin before loosely wrapping his arms around your middle, and connecting his lips with yours.
Releasing, he sighs, “Good.”
૮ - ﻌ - ა .✮⋆˙.𖥔 ݁ ݁˖
ps: I AM the kind of neurodivergent to match Adrian’s freak. You have no idea how far I’m pulling back from the deep need to info dump about crows or spiders or sharks or. Literally anything. I'd go to bat w/ this freak so hard. Also, I reference the film “The Monster Who Challenged the World” and all scene references are accurate to the film. It’s obviously not required watching lol. Also x2 do not be fooled by the em dashes, no AI was used in the writing of this fic. I just love (and always have loved) using em dashes.
Jason prefers his space…you also prefer his space but thankfully he doesn’t seem to mind much
warnings: cursing, slight mention of dying
a/n: interacting is much appreciated and enjoy!
divider credit: @/cursed-carmine
“It’s creepy when you do that, you know”
Your eyes narrow through your mask, seemingly rendering yourself from out of the dark that surrounds the rooftop on Gotham nights and you stroll over to the ledge where you can see civilians walk up and down the streets below, reminding you of small ants on pavement.
“I finally found you”
“Wasn’t hiding”
“It didn’t really seem like it. Took me an hour to find your hide out” He hasn’t looked at you yet, solely focused on hovering over the ledge, eyes examining the narrow lanes from afar and you ignore Jason’s lack of interest in you.
“Doesn’t matter, I told you I wanted to be alone”
“At the risk of being slightly annoying, I thought today we could be alone together.”
You can’t help the crinkle of your nose when the wind blows and the smell of soot travels through the air. “I can see why you come here to think though, it’s quite”
“Not quite enough” you fain hurt and place your free hand over your heart.
“And here I came all this way to check up on you”
“You checked. I’m fine. Now you can go” you roll your eyes at his flat tone.
“You’re acting pretty harsh towards someone who got you a birthday present” Jason does what must have been an eye roll from under his helmet and he looks at you with his glowing white eyes.
“It’s not my birthday”
“No but…this is the same day we first met after you came back…”
“From the dead” Jason finishes what you didn’t “no need to sugar coat it.” You bring your hand from behind your back to reveal a cupcake with white frosting and a small candle stuck in the center.
“You’re joking”
“Not even a little” Jason scoffs “make a wish”
“The candles not even lit”
“I didn’t want to get candle wax on it” your eyebrows furrow and you hurriedly grab the candle out of the cupcake. “This isn’t the only reason I came here though. Bruce thought you would have stopped by yesterday, so did I.”
“Right. Because there is something special about having dinner on Sundays”
“It isn’t about the food”
“I was busy” he lies “besides, why the hell would I want to be around them when they’re all moppy? They always get like that this time of year”
“They just care, like I do”
“I don’t need a lecture from you”
Your brows draw closer together “I wasn’t lecturing just…making a remark. Though if I was going to lecture you I’d start off by saying I’d want someone there for me if I was going through shit because I’m smart enough to know when I can’t deal with it on my own”
Jason gives you another eye roll “Yeah, you’ve said that before”
“And aren’t you lucky to have me?”
“Lucky. Yeah.” Jason says sarcastically, nudging you with his arm. “Are you going to sit or just stand there?” You smile under your mask and plop down on the edge, dangling your feet over and mimicking Jason’s own position. “But you have got to stop talking”
“I can do that” you look down “it’s—” Jason holds a hand up, silently telling you to shut up “I was just going to say it’s not that bad up here”
“Please stop talking”
You groan and through the silence you can hear distant police sirens zipping down the streets below and it’s been all of five minutes before Jason hears the familiarity of your voice again.
“This is the alleyway where you met Bruce, right? Heard they’re tearing this building down”
“Yeah, they are” you nudge Jason back and offer up the cupcake and he takes it.
“Sentimental” you say
“Oh shut up. You’re one to talk ‘cupcake”
“You shut up. You own me 7 dollars for that by the way” Jason laughs and in all of one big bite the cupcake is gone
“Yeah right”
———
This was inspired by that one scene with dick and jason on the rooftop in ak if you couldn’t tell.
feat. jason todd x gn!reader — fluff, comfort (1.5k)
summary: in which jason todd learns that with you, it’s irrevocably love.
— nana's note: jason todd, you beautiful man who deserves only beautiful love. i can't guys, i love him so much. i thank him for getting me to pump out a piece i'm genuinely proud of. hope my love for him is palpable in it.
— cw: very brief mentions of wounds, stitching.
jason todd was scared. he could admit that to himself. he knew this feeling, at least at its surface. it was weird, he thought. the shift in his brain, like he could feel the chemicals swimming in his body to alert him that something, whatever it may be, is off. or maybe nothing was peculiar, just at the very least different. but jason couldn't quite name this odd fear that coursed through his veins. so naturally, he was scared of succumbing to a feeling that—despite its palpableness—he couldn't explain. a feeling that encompassed his entire body, mind, and soul. how could something he’d never felt before be so… real?
jason remembers the first time he felt it. it was around you, as was with every other time. you patched him up after a particularly grueling patrol. the kind that made his limbs sluggish and rendered him mute. he was entirely worn, boots treading quietly into the familiar comfort of your apartment without so much as a knock. but you welcomed him with open arms and an already-opened first aid kit. he remember the sight made him smile, the first small quirk of his lips in hours. somehow you always managed to do that to him.
your careful hands guided him to the dining table, the furniture abnormally small next to his stature and immediately got to work. you stayed silent as well, only speaking up to make sure you weren't hurting him. he always shook his head with a small frown, humming a low denial at your quiet concern. when you got particularly worried, pulling away from his body—jason found himself reaching for you, a small touch of reassurance to your forearm, shoulder, head, anywhere he could touch to ground himself in you. and to make you believe.
it’s okay, you can’t hurt me.
jason watched you. he loved the way your features slowly lost their tension. how they leaned into the truth that you were not hurting him.
you could never hurt me.
more often, he started to think about you in this light. he noticed his internal dialogue sounded like it was pulled straight out of those novels he’d read, the kind where characters slowly fall to their paradisiacal demise. the kind where devotion is absolute, bubbling between two souls. he could be doing anything: lying in bed at night, jumping over rooftop obstacles, simply stirring his morning coffee, his mind would still drift to you. and of course, these thoughts were strongest here—with you. despite his consistent self-protests and that persistent part of him that urged to keep you at a safe distance, jason thought of you almost poetically. you had infiltrated him mentally, what could he do? if his thoughts were spread across a page for people to read, it’d be easy to find its thoughtful rhythm and sincere connotation. without much effort needed to interpret his thoughts, anyone would undoubtedly label it as—
he looked away. anywhere, just not at you. his distraction ended up being your window which was propped open by a few old trinkets. he forgot you had asked him to fix it for you. his frown etched deeper, fist slightly clenched in his lap where you were sat on a stool, making it easier to reach his wound. he made a note to get that done for you sooner rather than later. the crack allowed gotham's unmistakable night breeze to sneak in and jason wondered if the air was to blame for the bumps rising along his sweat-sheened skin. you had just finished suturing the skin beneath his ribs.
“how does it feel?” you questioned, breaking the silence that was otherwise filled with his quiet, steady breaths.
jason stands up, twisting his torso for measure.
“woah—woah!” you stood up abruptly, hands now free of any supplies. “did no one tell you to not move so much after a wound like that?” your brows were furrowed so tightly, eyes widened with a panic jason recognized all too well. with a soft shake of your head, your palms reached out for him and pressed against his abdomen lightly. your touch could mirror that of a feather, coaxing him back down onto the chair.
“sit, jason,” you said.
“my bad,” he said.
if you didn’t know him any better, his indifferent tone would’ve made you roll your eyes. but tonight he was quiet, and that snarky lilt to his usual comments wasn’t there. you didn’t push for a reason. part of you could feel it, too: the shift in the room. like a slow realization you couldn’t name.
the wood creaked under his weight and naturally, you followed him until you were standing between his spread thighs. like this, you were the one looking down at him. his eyes, full of something that made your heart lurched, peered up at you. another gust of wind flew in, causing the loose strands of your hair to brush against your cheek. in that moment, he felt his breath hitch and his throat close up. the two of you simply watched one another, an unnamable tension thick between your locked gazes. like your eyes’ were magnetic, stuck together and unable to look away.
“you never answered me.” you broke the silence again, albeit barely with the softness of your syllables.
your eyes flickered down to his cut lip, back to his eyes, then back down. it was a split second, but with how close and attentively jason was watching you, he’d be an idiot to miss it. slowly, with a tentativeness that held jason’s breath, your hand grazed the fresh stitches beneath his pectoral. his body tensed—you almost moved away, to distance yourself as quickly as you had gotten in this position in the first place—but unlike the hesitancy it took you to touch him just now, jason felt your shift quick. he grabbed your hand before your body could catch up to your mind. before you could even decide. then, with a hesitancy that mirrored yours, he flattened your palm against his skin. you felt him; warm, damp, alive.
“s’good,” he said, breathe barely enough to disrupt the air between your bodies. “you did good. like always.”
your face burned, cheeks abnormally hot against the cool atmosphere in your kitchen. there was nothing cool about this, you were positively heating up and you knew your palm was undoubtedly adding to the sheen of his skin.
“yeah?” you whispered shakily, as your other hand reached up to cup his jaw. jason let you. he didn’t freeze this time, his body welcomed this—all of this with honesty. its then he realized that he’d let you do anything.
you swallowed dryly, moving to trace your fingers across his battle-worn face. over the shadowed lines and creases of a man whose faced it all. he leaned into your touch the slightest bit, exhaling through his nose with a sound full of comfort. and those goosebumps again, they danced along his arms that—he hadn’t even noticed when—were holding you close, keeping you from moving, from pulling away from him.
he wanted to submerge in this, in you and never come up for air.
now, jason lets himself. it’s another night where he finds himself on the couch, freshly patched by the hands belonging to none other than you. one of his arms slings over your lap as you sit on the edge, carding a hand through his charcoal locks. he squeezes the flesh of your hip, humming a soft appreciative sound.
eyes closed, he’s completely at peace.
the wound doesn’t hurt as much. they never did when you’re around because you had that special ability to take it all away, to share his pain with him as if it was your own. jason didn’t know what he did in his past life to deserve someone who could shoulder him.
because with you, jason learned it’s okay to feel these emotions and bask in these reactions. that adrenaline that coursed through his veins whenever you stepped into the room? or when your eyes find his in the crowd? when you smile at him like no one else is around? it wasn’t the same type he felt while chasing down criminals or reloading his firearm—leading a life that he tried so hard to keep you out of, no matter how far. but you did anyways, insisting to seep into his life and paint his life brighter than he ever saw. with you, the blues and blacks of gotham were a touch more bearable while the pinks and yellows of your love compared to nothing else. now he knew that his body and mind were experiencing a nurture it never had before.
he blinks open, meeting your gentle gaze. jason smiles, you were always watching him. the lines around his eyes soften, the creases around his ears soft under your touch.
“you look comfy,” you purr, bending down to peck his lips.
“that obvious?” he chuckles into the kiss, slipping a hand around your nape to keep you close. he never wanted you far.
Adrian is just looking out for you. Seriously, you're the awkward one with no friends. He has Peacemaker, so what if he's in jail for life?That doesn't mean they aren't friends. It just means they're long distance.
pre-season 1
Adrian was quiet as he slid open your patio sliding glass door, he had been careful to wipe his boots off on your outside mat, sliding them off before he even stepped inside and tried his best to quietly remove his blood-covered Vigilante suit, the last time he had tracked dirt through your loft still firmly in the back of his mind.
His boots found their place on your little grey shoe tray, right by the door because you considered shoes in the house as a legally prosecutable crime. When he was clad in only his boxers and a thin black long-sleeve, he folded the suit neatly, resting it on the small table next to your couch, shooting a glance towards the larger coffee table in front of the couch as he did so.
Covered in highlighters, sticky notes and half-opened books was its typical state of existence. You had a few clay coasters sporadically seen underneath the red-lined papers, but Adrian noticed in particular how your closed laptop hung precariously from the side—if he bumped the table just slightly, he would’ve fallen off.
“Silly.” He murmured, sliding the laptop more towards the center of the table. The hardest part was being quiet as he made his way towards your lofted bedroom, easier with just his socks on as he tip-toed up the stairs, holding his breath as if that would be what what woke you as he slid through the beaded curtains, sucking in and moving so, so slow in order to not clink the glass beads together too much.
Adrian’s face was turning slightly red by the time he finally let himself breath again. There you were, wrapped loosely in your comforter—baby manta ray style, making you easier to hold. Adrian wouldn’t have to brave the skin-to-skin.
He shivered, half from excitement, half from the fact that your apartment was an icebox. Seriously, you kept the AC down low and then when that wasn’t enough, had a high-speed fan pointed directly at you.
You had said, ‘my apartment needs to be like my heart.’ But if that was the case, Adrian had thought it would be so warm as to be uninhabitable.
He had just helped you chase down a scraggly, emaciated dog. Just the last week Adrian had watched you try to fight a random grown man, screaming and shouting that he ‘better not touch that fucking bird!’ and Adrian had trailed behind you—glaring daggers at him and daring him to try and argue with you. That loser had left the bird alone. It was for the best, Adrian would’ve killed that motherfucker.
You had a circular scar on the back of your ankle from ringworm that you had got from a mangy cat, Adrian had met you when you had pulled a blood soaked Vigilante from a dumpster behind the Evergreen IGA.
He had just been sleeping off a few gunshot wounds, but you and your heart too big for your chest had climbed in, fumbling, slightly panicking, using all your strength to hoist him out. Transparently, that wasn’t a lot because you had unceremoniously dropped him and it had hurt, like enough that Adrian had woken up, groggy, thinking that he had somehow managed to fall off the roof of another building.
He had been conscious enough to hear you call him a fat ass, which he was still annoyed about. Adrian hadn’t asked you, this random stranger with apparently abysmal arm strength to come help him—he didn’t need your help but you forced it on him, then insulted him!
Adrian had been stitching his own wounds, digging out his own bullets, setting his own broken bones for years now! He was great at taking care of himself, he could admit that in the beginning, his suturing had been less than spectacular, but they improved greatly after all the library books he had checked out.
You hadn’t known that. Didn’t know that he was just napping, like jeez, let a guy nap. You just saw a bloody, broken man in a ‘dumb ass suit’ (your words) atop a pile of disgusting garbage bags.
You had been terrified, certain that he was dead and it was that certainty that had you stepping closer—you found a body, your hands were shaking as you fumbled for your phone. You never ended up calling anyone because when you got close enough, you saw the steady rise and fall of his chest and realized you couldn’t just leave him, but also couldn’t call for help because you, unfortunately, recognized him as Vigilante—wanted on multiple counts of murder and you’d be fucking damned before you helped any fucking cops.
Adrian didn’t remember anything between you calling him a fat ass and when he had woken up on a stiff, cracked leather couch against the wall of a mechanics bay.
There had been an excessive amount of bloody micro fibered clothes under his torso, scrunched paper towels soaking up blood over his gunshot wounds and you, sleeping on the arm of the couch with your crossed arms serving as a pillow.
At first, Adrian had thought his nap hadn’t helped him.
He hadn’t felt the burning pain of the gunshot wounds, but there had been a weird feeling in his chest. It reminded him of a video Adrian had seen of a bird furiously flapping its wings, but achieving no flight but the bird was in his chest when he looked at your eyebrows pressed together even in your sleep while being covered in crusted blood. It was smeared on your cheek, your eyelids, your arms and your hands.
It had kept him from sitting up, from leaving. He didn’t know how long he had watched you, the occasional twitch of your eyelids as you slept, the way you shifted uncomfortably on the swivel rolling chair.
You had woken up at one point, dense with disquiet as you shakily inspected him, talking a mile a minute about hospitals, infections. Adrian still didn’t know why he allowed you to fret over him, or allowed you to hold a cup of lukewarm water to his chapped lips. He didn’t know why he stayed despite the gunshot wounds having become a fleeting pain that only occasionally stung.
Evergreen wasn’t a huge town, he recognized you. Your father owned some sort of car shop that Gut had talked excessively about before moving out and that Peacemaker had visited, but that was it.
Adrian kept drifting towards you. It started small, as his hyper fixations typically did. You were a machinist, constantly staying well into the night as you worked. At first, he was just passing by his shop, then that transitioned into laying in your truck bed and staring up at the stars as you drove home.
Then it culminated with Adrian shifting his weight outside your garage door.
He had knocked, waited, knocked again then put his ear to the metal and heard nothing—you had stopped working, so you had heard him, but the garage door hadn’t opened. He had knocked again, waited, knocked, knock, knock. “You hurt again?” You asked, poking your head out from the left, a door with a glazed glass window that showed a darkened interior—you had went around, looking to see who was knocking.
That was smart. His chest had swelled, you weren’t reckless but you had helped him. You kept helping him, upgrading his weapons as long as he brought you the supplies and look at him now: here, in your loft and grateful he was wearing a long sleeve.
Adrian took a quick glance around your room, not much had changed since the last time he had stopped by (two nights ago), though he noticed the additional of a pistol that wasn’t his laying on the nightstand of his side of the bed.
Adrian frowned, walking over and feeling the heavy metal weight in his hands. It was real, and it was out! That was dangerous. At least the safety was on, he would need to remind you of gun safety, would need to go over proper weapon storage. He slid the pistol into the drawer of his nightstand in the meantime, directly next to his dog-eared and worn beanie baby photo book before he slowly, carefully, crept into bed beside you.
When you didn’t immediately wake up to his weight, he inched closer, closing the distance and pressing his chest to your back, sliding one arm over your bundled form and one under.
You woke up immediately.
Tense, letting out a banshee screech as you tried to burst from the manta ray style, though Adrian’s tight grip didn’t let you, “What the fuck!?”
He flinched slightly, you were yelling directly into his ear, “Vig?!” You tried to elbow him, but Adrian didn’t feel it—though he didn’t doubt you had meant for him to, so he let out an overdramatic, overly faux yelp that was still cognizant of your neighbors, so not too loud. That would’ve been rude, Adrian had killed people for breaking quiet hours.
You elbowed him again, straining to get out of his grip as it tightened.
“We’ve talked about this!” They had, a lot, talked about it that is. Boundaries, Adrian you had said. Boundaries, you talked about—needing to knock, needing to plan visits and when he began his almost nightly visits, you had added another stipulation: the hangouts needed to be planned with you.
Adrian couldn’t keep his copy of your apartment keys, but if you didn’t want him to have them—why did you hide the spare in a fake rock in the bushes outside of your patio? And why did he have to put it back and pretend it wasn’t there?
Like, what the heck? How could Adrian know when he would be free? Also, shouldn’t you just expect Adrian every night? He brought you stacks of mozzarella sticks from Fennel Fields, people went crazy over that! He was your best friend, actually, Adrian thought he might’ve been your only friend. You were kinda awkward.
Case in point, you finally stilled, panting from exertion and trying to twist around trying to see Adrian just as he pressed his cheek into the side of your neck, feeling your pulse beating erratically against his cheek and inhaling sweat-soaked skin.
How the heck had you been sweating? It was barely mid 60s in your apartment. He faintly smelled the cocoa butter lotion you used religiously after falling asleep on your paddle board and waking up with a horrific sunburn, then sun poisoning that had Adrian finding you collapsed on the stair landing of your loft, arm half-way poking out of the beaded curtain with a limpness that had him thinking you had been dead.
He never, never wanted to live through that fear again. Adrian now always accompanied you to the river, he had to be there to systematically apply and reapply sunscreen based on his timer set for 1 hour and 45 minutes.
You never invited him, but Adrian could read between the lines.
Yup, he knew if he brought you a sandwich, you would glare, but didn’t tell him that you, “didn’t invite him” and “doesn’t he have work today?” (Yes, but he would call out if he had to) and he could sit behind you on your board, sitting sideways with his legs in the water and pointing out wildlife: the huge fish that passed under you, crayfish, their molts, even a fawn once, calling out for it’s mother.
Adrian also knew that after the second time he had invited himself, when he drank all your water and ate the majority of the snacks, you began bringing multiples. Two water bottles, two fruit roll ups, too bags of chips, always two of each snack in your waterproof bag.
At first, seeing you in only your swimwear had been difficult but he preserved. It would’ve been more difficult for Adrian if you were dead.
The pair of you spent hours at the river, floating down the river, paddling up the river and when you saw trash at the bottom, you’d pull your googles down from where they rested on your head and touched the watermelon swim shorts Adrian wore with reverence, looking at Adrian with an intensity that told him that you expected him to protect your board with his life and then would dive under water to retrieve the trash.
“You don’t live here, Adrian.” You grumbled. “Go home.” Defeated, considerably less force put into your comment this time than the first time Adrian had broken into your loft. Adrian couldn’t see your expression, but you had leveled it on him enough that he could guess—you had a concentrated glare like a laser beam, so much intensity in your stare that it raised his temperature a few degrees each time.
Moments of silence passed, the only noise coming from the intensity of your fan.
Then, you relaxed in his hold, “I saw a cormorant today.” Adrian didn’t let you go.
“You found a Pokemon card? Or are you playing Pokemon Masters again? You still still haven’t accepted my friend request. We’ve talked about this. Or did you see fanart? I linked you this artist I really like. Did you look through? They draw the best infernape—”
“No, the bird!”
“The bird Pokemon, yes! I know.”
“Adrian, that is Cramorant. I’m talking about a cormorant.”
